Goodwill Hunting

Went to Goodwill earlier today, ostensibly to get a sweater, but really to strike it rich. I'll explain in more detail, but I'd like to make a few comments/observations.

First, where exactly is the Quaalude dispenser? I saw the gum dispenser, and the rack of potato chips, but for the life of me I couldn't find where the Quaaludes are kept. Everybody else seemed to know where to find them - they staggered around in a half-stupor, bumping me with their carts to signal they wanted to move past me, stopping in the middle of an aisle to fondle pleated corduroy pants, and staring at a set of rooster and hen salt and pepper shakers. These people were not well.

That said, as I mentioned, my goal was to find a sweater. It's getting cold here, and it's time for a sweater. All I own are two ridiculous sweaters: one is referred to as the "Charlie Brown" sweater - black with white stripes - and the other is some sweater my parents gave to me that was made on some British island using wool from the very rare Sheepus Scratchius, and is bright red.

Unfortunately, the only sweaters available at Goodwill were equally ridiculous, having been wrested from their owners by spouses or significant others, probably after strong words like "It's me or that fucking sweater, so you'd better decide now!" I've had other sweaters disappear from my collection before, and I'm pretty sure my wife is to blame. But after looking at the Goodwill collection, I'm sure she made the right call.

Defeated, I made my way to the section where they sell old vinyl records - really, really weird stuff. There's the Hall & Oates stuff, which you sort of expect to find, but there are plenty of other strange albums out there. There was a signed album by a guy name Johnny Rocker (I think - I've Googled him since coming home and can't seem to find any valid references to anybody other than the much maligned pitcher for the Atlanta Braves), the inscription read, "To Max: I enjoyed working with you. I hope you enjoy this wacky record."

Note to Johnny: I'm guessing Max didn't like it too much, 'cause - you know - it's in Goodwill now.

I also saw an album called, "Songs For Today" which made me realize what a stupid, self-defeating title for any piece of work that is. Because pretty much as soon as it's printed, those songs would have been for yesterday. It's not a name that makes anybody think, "That's really timeless music." because it's not. It was music for that day, and now it's not. Anyway...

I have a not-so-secret fantasy that I'll inadvertently purchase some piece of kitsch for $1.99 that ends up being worth tons. I'll have a friend over and they'll be like, "Holy shit, man, you've got a stolen Harrah's Club ashtray! Those are worth around eight thousand!" So far, I haven't struck gold, but I keep my hopes high.

Today, I left with:

- A little Italian dish that I thought was an ashtray, but my wife thinks it's a little dish for oil and vinegar to dip your bread into.

- An old alarm clock with the faux-wood veneer on the sides.

- An "Original Cast Sesame Street" record... the first cut is "C Is For Cookie." What an awesome song.

- A couple of shot glasses: one from Texas (where I spent my formative years) and one from California (where I was born).

- A wall clock.

- A votive candle holder shaped like a toilet.

I spent $8.53.

The Scream

Betcha didn't know that prior to naming this piece "The Scream", Edvard Munch had originally called it, "The Parent".

The Honda Vulva 1100

I was forced to say the word "scrotum" to somebody as part of a legitimate conversation the other day. I think it might have been the first time I've used the word normally, and not while making fun of somebody or intentionally making somebody uncomfortable. I actually blurted/yelled it to this person, as that seemed to be the only way of actually saying it. I couldn't just *say it*, I had to force it out.

I can't help but think about the fact that the words used to describe female anatomical structures, specifically those associated with reproduction in some form, actually sound nicer when spoken than the words used to describe male anatomy.

In fact, as the title of this post illustrates, they could almost be re-purposed for everyday, commercial usage.

"Set your mind free as you glide down the highways on your 2007 Honda Vulva 1100 motorcycle!"

That works, right? You wouldn't trip over that if you were reading it in Newsweek while waiting for your kid to get out of the orthodontists chair, huh?

Let's try this:

"Visit your nearest Suzuki dealer to test-ride the Suzuki Scrotum and we'll take you from zero to freedom in no time!"

Eh, not so much.

Consider the word ovary. Sounds soft. Not offensive. This word could be used to describe marine life, as in, "The boaters were overjoyed when a pod of ovaries breached nearby."

How about testicles? Again, it just doesn't have the same ring, unless the word was used like, "The fisherman pulled up his net and was discouraged to find it filled with testicles." Or, "Testicles had stubbornly attached themselves to the hull of the vessel."

But if we did change the meaning of these words, then saying them wouldn't be so weird. We could just use the regular words to describe anatomy, like "balls".

Nobody has a problem saying that, right?

Hey- it's my blog, I can write about anything I want.

Gaba-Gaba-Hey!

Okay - actually gabapentin.

I am generally opposed to the pharmaceutical industy's attempts to convince us all that something is wrong... something that needs to be medicated now!

And - though I risk offending my vast readership - I'm fed up with multiple chemical sensitivty, fibromyalgia, and "chronic fatigue syndrome". Seriously, any parent suffers from chronic fatigue syndrome.

"Restless Leg Syndrome" is a diagnosis I would have laughed at - until I experienced it. Driving home from work late at night after a swing shift, I'd have to slide the seat all the way back and excercise my legs, using cruise control to keep the car going. In bed at night, the benefits of a king became apparent, as I could move away from my wife and safely thrash about without irritating her (too much.) Fatigue worsens it. Sometimes having a couple of drinks makes it bad, too.

I was at a clinic the other day doing some server work and mentioned this to the ARNP. "My husband has that! He takes Neurontin and it seems to help." Like and FBI agent displaying her badge, she whipped out her prescription pad and wrote a prescription.

Fast forward one week.

I've not been sleeping all that well lately, and realizing Neurontin can make one drowsy, I decided to take it as a sleep aid rather than for restless legs (which haven't actually been bothering me that much lately.)

Whew! What a diff! I've been sleeping like a log, actually having dreams, feeling better during the day.

Worthless drivel, but I felt compelled to write about it.